Feet
by snowstargirl
Summary: How the Pevensies bond over foot washing. No pairings.
1. Aslan and His Followers

**Title: Feet**

_Summary: _How the Pevensies bond over foot washing

_Rating:_ K+

_Pairings:_ None

_Disclaimer:_ None of the characters from _The Chronicles of Narnia_ belong to me. They belonged to C.S. Lewis when he wrote them, but now I think (legally, anyway) they belong to Douglas Gresham, Walden Media, Disney, Fox, and possibly several other individuals or companies as well. I'm not making any money by writing this story.

_Author's Notes_:

There will be seven chapters in this story. They're arranged chronologically; however, each chapter stands alone and does not relate (much) to other chapters, although there are some minor references between them. My hope is that the main theme will bind them together.

With a few obvious exceptions, this fic is more or less bookverse, though I think I pulled some personality traits from movie characters at times. It spans the series, although there is not a chapter to go along with each book. Some of the chapters are related to events which occurred in the series; however, many are not, or only make reference to established events. I've attempted to make the settings obvious within the story, but if you're ever confused about when or where a chapter takes place, please let me know.

Please forgive me if something like this has been done before (and please let me know if it has, as I'd like to read others' stories). I got the idea after seeing a particularly moving episode of _Touched by an Angel_; however, it strikes me that the original idea was God's.

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"Now that I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also should wash one another's feet." - John 13:14

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Prologue: Aslan and His Followers

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Many years ago, when life was still new in Narnia, a great Lion had showed his followers a rather curious way of serving one another. And He had told them that if they loved Him, and loved one another as brothers, they might well do the same. Because they did not understand the thing when He explained it to them, and because He loved them more dearly than they could have imagined, He had shown them first by example, and for his example he had chosen his dear servant Fledge.

Now Fledge was a great winged Talking Horse, and what the Lion had done was to wash Fledge's hooves. Fledge had not thought this a thing the Lion ought to do, as his hooves had been so terribly dirty at the time. Still, the Lion had told him it was a thing which must be done if Fledge wanted to be truly clean, and so Fledge, who wanted to please the Lion, had reluctantly agreed.

The interesting thing was that when the Lion was done, though it was He who had done such a menial task- one which was often commanded of slaves in other worlds, and certainly not one which the Talking Animals would have thought to do voluntarily- it was Fledge who felt humbled, and Fledge who felt as though his eyes had been opened.

And though His followers (and especially Fledge) were at first rather shocked and uncomfortable with this method of service, once the Lion had served them as well their hearts were somehow changed, and they were moved to treat those they loved in the same way; to treat them as better than themselves.

Now there had been a King who saw this done, a Son of Adam from the world of men (who might have reminded you a very little bit of a cabby) who said he was quite certain he had heard something of the like done in his old world. But his memory of that world had been growing dimmer for some time by then, and he might have forgotten the way he had heard it entirely if his lovely wife had not remembered it too and they had not reminded each other from time to time.

They had attempted to tell the Animals (the Talking ones at least; it did very little good explain things to the ones which did not talk) about their memories of a different way the Lion's service had been done- something to do with washing others' hands or knees or some such thing, but the Animals thought it very silly. They said that the thing was to wash another's hooves or paws or, if such were lacking, wings.

As the King and his Queen were humans and were thus bereft of hooves or paws or wings or any such sensible appendages, they sought to serve each other by washing their feet, and they taught their children to do the same. And when the great Lion saw them do this, He smiled at them and said they were not so far off the mark, and they were glad.

But as time wore on and men left the country and Narnia was overtaken by winter, the men and Talking Animals forgot to show their honor for one another by serving in this way. Perhaps they often forgot to honor each other all together. And alas, the same could be said for the world of men. But there were those who remembered the idea.


	2. Susan and her Sister

_Author's Note_: The Pevensie children are (roughly) 4, 6, 8, and 9 years old in this chapter.

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Susan and her Sister

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Susan sat on her favorite rock in the garden, reading her favorite book. She had just come to the best part when she heard her favorite voice. "Susan, dear," her mother called through the screen. "Would you please get Edmund and Lucy for me?"

Susan smiled. "Yes, Mum!" she said brightly. She was faintly annoyed at being called away from such a good story, but a chance to help the grown-ups did not come along every moment. She set her book carefully on the far side of the rock where it would be less likely to be trounced and skipped down the little hill, her tidy plaits dancing in the wind. She followed the sound of childish laughter down to the fence, and there she stopped short, for her younger brother and sister were lying in the flowers, covered head to toe in mud.

"Oh!" cried Susan, horrified. "You monkeys! What will Mum say? The Allens are coming to tea in half an hour, and you know how neat they are! Mrs. Allen can't see you like this!"

"Who says she should see us at all?" asked Edmund. "I want to stay here and play."

"Mummy won't mind," said Lucy earnestly. "We didn't hurt the flowers."

She tossed a bit of dirt into her brother's hair. Edmund could not return the gesture as Susan had by now got between him and Lucy, so he settled for sticking his tongue out at her. Lucy shrieked with glee, and Edmund could not help trying to throw some more dirt at her, but of course he hit Susan instead.

She never noticed. She was busy trying to brush the mire from her sister's dress, but she soon gave it up for lost. Lucy wriggled away from her and dashed after Edmund, and Susan could not decide whether to laugh or to be exasperated. She finally settled for chasing them both. She caught Lucy at the rock.

"Oh, no you don't!" She scooped up her laughing sister, but Edmund was faster and escaped through the door.

"Ed!" cried Susan, forgetting how unladylike it is to yell. "You can't go into the house like that!"

"Yes I can," said Edmund decisively, and he shut the door behind him with a bang. The girls could hear his shout of delight as their father caught him up, pretending to scold his youngest son as he pronounced Edmund's punishment: a bath. Susan sighed and looked down at Lucy.

"What am I going to do with you?"

Lucy, who loved Susan dearly and did not really mind being caught, stopped struggling and grinned up at her.

"Silly," accused Susan softly, but she was smiling. She set Lucy down and took her hand. "Come on. Let's see what can be done for you."

She led her to the garden hose and frowned; the mud was caked onto Lucy so thickly it might take days to get it off that way. In resignation she called for Peter. Her older brother came outside and laughed, but he consented to help Susan carry Lucy into the house. They struggled down the hall with her and set her on the sink in the kitchen, and Peter stayed with Lucy while Susan went to fetch another dress. When she came back she found both of them splashing and covered in water, so she shooed Peter out of the room and tried to wash Lucy herself. But Lucy said she could do it, and Susan finally left her in a huff.

When the younger children were more or less clean they were sent upstairs (this was mostly to keep them out of trouble) and Susan, still mildly vexed with them both, stayed downstairs. Five minutes before the Allens were set to arrive Susan noticed that she was still in her outdoor clothes, so she ran into the room she shared with Lucy to find a nicer dress. But when she looked up at Lucy she noticed something else; Lucy had had forgotten to wash her feet. They were still quite dirty, and somehow dustier.

Susan meant to scold her, but the cheerful look on her sister's face made her smile instead. She found a basin and filled it carefully with warm water (she did not want to hurt her sister's feet) and brought it back into their bedroom. She put Lucy on her bed and sat down on the floor beneath her, giving Lucy a half reproachful look.

Lucy took no notice. She swung her legs back and forth and began to chatter on about her day, regaling Susan with all the lovely stories which so enchant girls of four, but which rarely seem to have the same effect upon girls of eight. Susan would much rather have been slipping on her more grown up clothes and going down to await her friends, but instead she slipped Lucy's feet into the warm water and began to rub the dirt off with her fingers.

"That's disgusting!" said Edmund from the doorway, wrinkling his nose.

"My toes aren't as dirty as yours, Ed," said Lucy with confidence.

Susan thought they were probably much dirtier, as Edmund had been wearing shoes in the garden and Lucy had gone barefoot, but she was kind enough not to say so. And Edmund, having seen enough of foot washing (what he wanted was more foot muddying), disappeared down the hall making gagging noises.

Lucy considered her feet with interest.

"I guess they are awfully dirty." She felt the tiniest bit bad that Susan had to wash them. Perhaps she ought to have remembered to do it herself.

"Well maybe not awfully," conceded Susan generously, as she tried to scrub the dirt from between Lucy's toes, making her little sister giggle.

"You don't have to use your hands if you don't want to," offered Lucy. "You can get a towel."

"No," said Susan, who was not really annoyed anymore. Lucy so very seldom sat still and talked with her. "It's all right. I know towels make your toes feel funny."

Lucy grinned at her. She leaned over and fell off the bed into Susan's lap, kissing her on the cheek and spilling dirty water all over Susan and the floor.

Susan opened her mouth to admonish her for spilling the water, but she looked into Lucy's doe-eyed face and could not bear to hurt her. Lucy snuggled into her, sending more water raining out of the basin as she accidentally kicked it.

"You're my very favourite sister."

And though Susan was tempted to remind Lucy that she was her only sister, in the end she only smiled and hugged her back.


	3. Lucy and her Brother

**Lucy and her Brother**

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Lucy was terribly sad. The others were still refusing to believe her, and she could not bring herself to lie, even to make it up with them. She felt more and more that they were treating her like a leper.

Peter had made Edmund stop teasing her, and while she was grateful she did feel that it would only make things worse later on. Edmund was only growing angrier with all of them. She secretly believed that Edmund thought much higher of Peter than he let on, and at any rate the result of his anger with Peter appeared to be less anger toward Peter and more toward her. She sighed.

She looked over at the others, who were still fishing in the creek. She had not really felt wanted, though she had been invited to fish, and so she sat a little way off, watching. Edmund had caught a particularly nice fish which he was trying to show off to the others. But Peter and Susan barely heard him, and Peter caught a larger fish the next moment, and neither he nor Susan paid Edmund's catch much attention.

"Oh, how lovely," said Susan to Peter, admiring his fish.

This injustice Edmund could not bear. He gave them both a stony scowl and proceeded to shove Peter, who was balancing on the dock, into the water.

"Edmund!" cried Susan, appalled.

But Edmund did not stay to hear anything else. However cross he was with Peter he did not want to meet him after being spiteful, and he had already begun running for the woods.

"What a beast," said Susan quietly, shaking her head as she helped a shocked Peter out of the water.

Peter stood shivering on the rocks as he watched Edmund race into the trees.

"Little coward," he muttered darkly, once he had caught his breath.

Susan frowned. "Well don't let's mind him now." She looked her older brother over fretfully. "You ought to go up and change your clothes. We haven't brought anything to dry off with."

Peter did not really care whether his clothes were wet; he supposed the sun would dry them quickly enough. What he really wanted was to have it out with Edmund, but his brother was long gone and there was no point making Susan worry. He gave her a wry smile.

"All right Su."

He picked up the socks and shoes he had discarded by the creek and started for the house, wondering when Ed had become so disagreeable. A girlish voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Peter!"

He turned around and there was Lucy, carrying his fishing gear and running to catch up. He stopped and waited for her, supposing Susan had sent her after him. When Lucy reached him he smiled at her, trying to make her feel better, as he suspected she was still feeling left out. She gave him half a smile in return, and he shook a bit of water out of his hair and onto her head. Lucy shrieked and jumped away, and he held out his hand to her, grinning. She laughed in spite of herself and took it, and they walked together up to the house.

"Oh," said Lucy suddenly, when they came to its edge. "Stay here. I'll be right back."

She dropped Peter's fishing things on a nearby bench and went into the house. Peter stared after her, bewildered. She returned in a few minutes, arms laden with a bowlful of water and a large bath towel. Peter looked down at her, nonplussed. He took the bowl, which was rather too large for her, and set it on the ground in front of the bench.

"Lucy, what-" he began, but Lucy pointed at the ground.

"Your feet," she explained.

Peter looked down. The water from the creek had mixed with the earth as he was walking, and his feet were now covered in a fine layer of mud. He grinned. "The Macready will have all our heads if I track mud into her domain."

Lucy beamed at him. "I'd like to keep my head, thank you," she said a little saucily. "And it isn't her house. It's the professor's."

Peter ruffled her hair and sat down on the bench.

"Quite right it is. Thanks for looking out for me, Lu."

He stuck his feet into the bowl and reached out to take the towel from Lucy to scrub them with, but Lucy stepped back. He looked up and found that she was watching him a little shyly.

"Can- can I do it?" she asked. Peter noticed that she was biting her lip.

"Can you wash my feet?" he asked her in confusion.

Lucy took his puzzlement for revulsion and began to go a little red.

"Well, you know," she began haltingly. She felt a little silly. She had never had trouble talking to Peter before, but suppose he thought her absurd? She was not sure she could bear it if he thought her an idiot in addition to a liar. She knew not whether she would ever be permitted to go into Narnia again, but she did want Peter to know she loved him, if she disagreed with him. He had always been her faithful ally.

She did not know how to put what she felt for him into words, but she remembered a time when someone had washed her own feet when they had not wanted to and it had made her feel lovely. So she continued speaking anyway, hoping Peter would understand.

"It's just that you've made Edmund stop being so cruel. And I wish you would believe me, because I'm not lying, and really Ed's only angrier now, but it's still nice that you've made him stop. I do hate making everyone so cross with me." She glanced up to consider Peter's reaction, but she could not read the expression on his face. "And, and-" She cast about for the proper words, but they would not come. "Susan did this for me once, and it made me- it made me feel- loved," she finished, almost inaudibly. Then, because she felt so ridiculous, she added the words which never failed her. "Peter, please?"

For a moment Peter only stared, marveling at her. Then Lucy looked at the ground and he realized she was ashamed. He still thought she had gone a bit barmy, but he loved her, and he saw that she wanted to do something nice for him. And he did not like her to think him unkind, especially after all the business about the wardrobe. "All right Lu," he said affectionately. "Of course you can wash them, if you like. I was only startled. No one's ever asked me that before."

He chucked her under the chin and Lucy knelt before him, feeling better. She laid the towel on the grass and her hands flitted toward his feet, but Peter suddenly laid a hand on her arm. He cleared his throat. "Do you really want to touch them?"

Lucy thought he looked a bit red, but cast that thought from her mind. Peter was never self-conscious. She tilted her head and regarded his feet. They were slimy with wet mud and brittle with dried mud, and there were all manner of grass and little rocks from the creek between his toes. She hesitated. They would not be nice to touch. But then she looked up at him, squinting in the sunlight. "No." She smiled. "But I think that's the point."

Baffled, Peter sat back. So Lucy gave him a smile which was half adoring and half uncertain and fell to the task she had set herself (though she wondered in the back of her mind if perhaps someone else had set it for her). She still felt a little silly, even though she knew that Peter loved her. She wondered how he would feel once she had showed him how much she loved him.

Her fingers trembled a bit at the beginning, but if Peter noticed he never mentioned it. And as she reached her hands into the water and began to rinse the mud from Peter's feet, she became less awkward and more convinced of her position. She ran her fingers under the soles of his feet and tickled them, making Peter laugh. Then she began in earnest.

She ran her tiny hands across the tops of his feet and up to his ankles, washing the grime and mire away. Her fingers began to scrub the mud from the tops of his feet, and then from in between his toes, and finally from underneath them, and her eyes grew softer all the time. She felt the calluses he had earned running barefoot in the field, and the little scar from the piece of glass he had fallen on years ago when he had pushed Edmund away from the broken bowl. With every touch she reminded herself how much she loved him, and with every touch she willed him to believe in her, to know she would not lie to him.

"Peter," she murmured, hardly aware she had spoken as she brushed away a particularly coarse bit of thistle. "Oh, Peter, I wish you could see…"

But Peter could not see. Not yet. He could, however, understand that she loved him.

When Lucy was done, she pulled his feet from the water one at a time and set them on her towel. She wrapped them up and leaned down to kiss them, smiling warmly at his funny toes.

"Oh," she said suddenly, dismayed. "I missed a spot."

She suddenly felt very careless. She had wanted desperately to serve Peter as he had always served her in the past, but she had not even been able to do it properly. She looked up at her brother, ready to apologize and wash his feet again, but she stopped short.

Peter was looking at her with such sweet tenderness that she thought she might cry. He reached down and pulled her up on the bench beside him, unshed tears shining in his eyes. He still did not believe her, but she had shaken him and his unbelief. She leaned into him, and he wrapped an arm around her before kissing the top of her head.

"Thank you," he whispered, a catch in his normally controlled voice.

"You're welcome," said Lucy, smiling brightly for the first time that day. She crawled into his lap and laid her head against his heart, and Peter tugged her closer.

"I love you, Lucy," he murmured into her hair.

He felt a tiny hand slide into his.

"I love you, too."


	4. Peter and his Brother

_Author's Note_: Most of this fic is more closely related to bookverse (in my opinion), but in this particular chapter Peter's initial attitude is based more on that of moviePeter, who (I thought, for a very brief moment,) at least considered having a difficult time forgiving Edmund.

_A warning about the rating_: I'm pretty sure this still falls into the K+ category, but it's a little dark in comparison to the other chapters.

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Peter and his Brother

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Peter stood with Aslan on the hill, lost in thought. His brother had been returned to him that morning, and while he was certainly grateful and relieved, he could not pretend to be happy. In fact he was still angry, though he did not want to be. So he had sought the Lion's counsel.

He wanted to make things right with Edmund, but he found that he had very little to say to him, and he could not help being a little disappointed. Edmund had put them all in danger, and now that he was back Peter thought his brother deserved to be punished. He could not, of course, give Edmund any consequence- he knew better already than to defy Aslan, and he did not really want to- but he had a long way to go before he had forgiven Edmund completely in his heart, and that was unsettling. Finally he looked at Aslan.

"I don't know what to do about Ed."

The Lion returned Peter's gaze evenly, but He gave no answer. Peter began to wonder if He would speak at all, but at last He did.

"What does Edmund want from you, Son of Adam? What does your brother need?"

Peter kicked at a rock.

"Forgiveness," he sighed.

"Yes" agreed Aslan. "He has mine. And he has your sisters'."

Peter looked away; he did not like what was left unsaid. Aslan was quiet for a long time, but finally Peter returned his eyes to Him, and He spoke once more.

"Your brother loves you dearly. He admires you greatly." Peter blinked in surprise, but the Lion continued. "He desires to honor you, Peter; to show his respect for you and his regret at failing you. But he does not know how to do so."

Peter looked hard at Aslan, and the great Cat smiled.

"Perhaps you find this difficult to believe, but you will see it in time. The question before you now is this: Do you love your brother?"

Peter nodded. "Of course."

"Then tell him so."

Peter smirked. He could just imagine what Edmund would think of that.

"If you cannot tell him, Son of Adam, perhaps you will show him instead," suggested Aslan, and Peter frowned.

"I don't know how."

"We serve those we love," offered Aslan. "Your brother is willing enough to serve you now. He _wants_ to serve you now." He gave Peter a moment to take this in. "But I think you might do better to serve him first."

Peter bristled.

_Of all the things Edmund did not deserve…_

"I don't know how," he said again.

"Don't you?" asked Aslan, and Peter thought a smile played about His whiskers.

He opened his mouth to confirm that he had no idea how to serve Edmund, but when he looked longer at the Lion he realized that he did. For a moment his blood ran cold.

"No," whispered Peter.

"Yes," said Aslan firmly, and Peter put his head in his hands.

"That won't be easy," he muttered.

"It will be more difficult for your brother," said Aslan softly, and Peter looked up at Him, wondering what He meant. The great Cat placed a gentle paw on Peter's shoulder. "Love is not always easy."

He gave Peter a Lion's kiss for courage; then He left him on the hill to make his decision.

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Peter searched everywhere for an empty bowl, but everything in the camp which might hold water appeared to be in use. All he could find was a long, low wooden box. It must have held some sort of armor when it was brought to the camp, but all it held now was a sponge. _There's a sign if ever I saw one,_ thought Peter ruefully as he glared at the offending object. He went to the stream and filled the box halfway with water, thinking all the time of how he could possibly explain this to Edmund. It did not help that he was growing angrier every minute. He lugged the wooden crate back to the boys' tent and paused at the entrance. When he was sure he was going to go through with it, he went inside.

Edmund was sitting in a chair near the back of the tent. He tried to smile when Peter came in, but the smile did not reach his eyes. Peter thought he looked nervous.

"Hullo," said Edmund quietly.

"'Lo," said Peter around the box.

Edmund started to get up to help him with it, but Peter motioned him back to the chair; Edmund's shoes and crumpled socks were by the entrance and Peter did not want to drop the box on his bare feet. Edmund stood by the chair obediently, though he looked puzzled, and Peter wondered at how anxious Edmund was to please. He set the armor box at his brother's feet and Edmund looked up at him, startled. But he ignored the box for the moment. Instead he reached down and picked something up.

Peter's brow furrowed as he inclined his head toward his brother. Edmund held a thin, rather flexible stick which was covered in pointed thorns at one end. He noticed Peter staring and looked more nervous than he had before, but he was also determined. Peter looked at him questioningly, and Edmund held the stick out to him with trembling fingers. Peter took it, staring at it in confusion.

"It- it's the sharpest one I could find," Edmund explained, and Peter had the distinct impression that he thought it should be much sharper. When he looked back at his brother, he saw that Edmund had grit his teeth and was holding out his hands, his wrists still blazoned with the imprint of a rope. He was shaking. Peter's eyes widened and he suddenly felt wretched.

"You think I came to punish you?"

Edmund brought his arms down awkwardly.

"Didn't you?" he asked in a very small voice.

Peter could only stare at him. He had been an awful idiot.

"No, Ed."

He threw the stick outside, flinching as it slashed through the air. Then he came back to stand beside his brother, who looked completely bewildered and not at all relieved; Edmund's eyes were filled with shame.

"Should- shouldn't you?"

Peter clapped him on the shoulder, compassion driving away the last of his anger.

"Sit down."

More or less unsure, Edmund sat. He grimaced when Peter pulled his hand away, and Peter looked hard at him. Edmund looked at his hands.

"Ed?"

"'S nothing," muttered Edmund, but a cold dread crept up Peter's spine all the same.

When he looked closer at Edmund's shirt, he could see blood on the shoulder he had clapped. Shocked, he looked at his own hand; it was stained a deep red where the blood had soaked through. Anger came into his eyes.

"Let me see, Ed."

"No."

"Yes," said Peter in a tone which broached no argument. "Now."

Edmund sighed in defeat. Reluctantly, he leaned forward and lifted the back of his shirt. He soon wished he had not. The sound Peter made was nothing short of murderous, and there was an anguish in it which burned Edmund's throat.

Angry weals glared up at Peter from his brother's back. Deep cuts lashed across it as they wound around to the tender flesh of his stomach, and within a few seconds Edmund could feel his brother's shaky fingers as they traced the lines in abject horror. Peter flinched when he recalled how Edmund had thought he ought to be punished; how hard he had shaken when he had held out his hands.

Edmund's skin split when his brother found the nastiest stroke, and Peter stared in horror at what he had done. Edmund's own blood dripped from his fingers and mixed with the dirt and dried blood below, and he saw now this had happened in other places too. He pulled his hands away, stricken, and his tears fell across his brother's back unchecked. Edmund hissed as the salt licked into his wounds, but he did not cry out.

Finally Peter stepped back. He'd never reached Edmund's shoulder, but he had seen enough. He let Edmund's shirt fall back into place and came around to stand in front of him. Edmund stared at him, not daring to breathe. A haunted look came into Peter's eyes, and it very nearly matched the one in Edmund's.

"She beat you," he said furiously.

"I-" began Edmund in a very small voice, but he was saved from having to say anything else, for Peter could not keep silent.

"She _beat_ you."

Peter's eyes were fierce, daring him to deny it. Edmund looked guilty, embarrassed, and confused, but he did not speak. He saw the anger burning in Peter's eyes and was afraid. Peter saw red, and for a moment fury took him.

"I'll kill her," he whispered fiercely, and Edmund, who sat shaking in the chair only because he could not make himself run, could believe it. For a moment neither of them breathed. But when Peter looked into Edmund's terrified eyes he relented.

Feeling very foolish for having frightened his brother, Peter fought to control his anger. He closed his eyes and clenched his fists until he felt that he could look at Edmund without shaking.

"Why didn't you say anything?" he demanded.

"You- you were all being so nice," began Edmund, but he could tell it would not be enough to appease his brother; indeed Peter barely stopped himself from shaking him.

"Edmund," he said severely.

Edmund closed his eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"_You're_ sorry?" Peter started incredulously.

"I'm a traitor," said Edmund quietly. "It's not as though I did nothing to deserve it."

There was nothing Peter could say to that.

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The guilt in Edmund's voice reminded Peter why he had come. He had no salve for his brother's back, but there was something else that needed doing.

Peter took a deep breath and, feeling rather humble, knelt at his brother's feet. He had put on his jerkin when the wind picked up; now he removed it and placed it on the floor beside the box. Perhaps he oughtn't to get it wet, as it was made of leather, but it seemed the proper thing to do. He tried to prepare his heart; it had not been in the right place since Edmund had been brought to the camp. When he did not get up again, Edmund's eyes grew wide.

"Peter," he started, truly alarmed, but Peter interrupted, looking him straight in the eyes.

"I want to serve you."

Edmund's face went white, and Peter would have laughed if he had not felt so serious.

"You want to what?"

"Serve you, Ed."

Edmund was dismayed. _"Why?_"

There was a very long pause. Then Peter's voice rang out strong and clear. "Because I love you."

Edmund stared at him in disbelief. He waited for the rest of the joke, but it never came; Peter's eyes were honest, and looking at him made Edmund want to cry. Guilt and pain were raw in Edmund's eyes.

"I don't deserve it," he mumbled, when Peter said nothing else.

"That's not the point," said Peter kindly, and Edmund's heart began to hurt. He cast about for something to look at, something that was not Peter or his awful, noble eyes.

"What's that for?" he asked nervously, indicating the wooden box. Peter had obviously brought it for Edmund, but he had already said the dreaded words. What more could there be?

"Your feet," said Peter quietly.

Edmund looked down at his feet. He had not bathed at all since he had come to Narnia. In fact he thought he probably smelled rather awful, especially about his feet, and he wondered how Peter had managed to stay in the tent with him. He looked at the box and went very still. He had a vague memory of having seen something similar done before…

_Oh, no._

Edmund began to feel very wretched indeed, but Peter did not appear to notice.

"Put your feet in the water," he directed quietly.

When Edmund continued to do nothing but stare at the box, Peter put his hands on Edmund's feet. Edmund tried to kick them off in the futile hope that they had come to be there by accident, or at least that if he kicked long enough Peter might take the hint, but he did not. He only put them into the water. He touched Edmund's feet so carefully, as though they were precious to him. It was too much.

"No, stop!" To Edmund's horror, his voice was trembling.

"Ed," said Peter gently. He saw panic rise in his brother's eyes, and he understood. Edmund did not want to break down in front of Peter; he could not bear it if Peter thought him weak. Peter pulled his hands back and gripped the edge of the box, trying to think of something to ease his brother's fear.

_Aslan_ _help me,_ he thought._ Help Ed. Please._

In a moment he felt braver. When he spoke again Peter's voice was strong and steady, and it soothed Edmund's soul like a balm.

"If you want to leave, Ed, I'm not going to stop you." He stopped and looked at the water, already filling with dirt and blood and grime. "But your feet are filthy. It looks like she really did a number on you." Edmund winced, and Peter continued quietly. "I just want to help you get the dirt off, okay? I won't hurt you."

"Why can't I do it myself?" Edmund whispered brokenly.

"I'm sure you could, Ed. But will you let me do it for you?"

Edmund had thought, when Peter had said that he could go, that he would run as far away as he could get. But something had made him stay. He looked at Peter, kneeling before him with his head bowed and his hands grey with dirty water, and suddenly he knew what ailed him. Edmund made a strangled noise and hid his face in his knees, and Peter looked up in alarm.

"Hey," started Peter softly, but Edmund's anguish would not be kept at bay.

"I wanted to make you my servant," he choked out miserably. "I wanted to _make_ you do things like this!"

For a moment Peter expected to be angry, but as he watched the desolate little person before him, he felt only love and pity.

"That's over now," he said quietly, his voice still steady in Edmund's ears. "Aslan said not to speak of it. I _want_ to do this, Edmund. Remember that."

And though Edmund did not move his face, Peter took it as a good sign that he did not run away either. Peter reached again into the water and took one muddy foot in his hand. He saw the blood on his brother's ankles and thought again that he should have found some way to get to Ed before he had fallen in with the witch.

Edmund was fairly whimpering now. Something seemed to be breaking inside him, and it was taking everything he had not to cry. Peter wished he could say something to help his brother, but he hadn't the words.

Peter ran his hands, callused now from sword practice, over his brother's shaking feet. He was gentle, but Edmund's feet ached terribly and he had to bite his tongue to keep from yelling. Slowly, carefully, Peter washed the dirt and blood and dust away. He had to scrub with the sponge now and again to free the nasty mixture of dried blood and dirt which seemed to have bonded to his brother's skin. Anger rose up inside him as he realized that the witch must have made Edmund go barefoot much of the time. And when the water had rinsed enough of the earth away, he saw the bruises.

Peter sucked in his breath and his hands stilled of their own accord. Edmund's face came up and he looked down at him. Realizing what Peter saw, he tugged his feet away sharply, sending water splashing onto everything in sight. Peter did not notice. He was still staring at the bruises which, he now noticed, went much further up Edmund's legs; some older than others. He had thought them part of the dirt before, but he could see them now for what they were.

Then he noticed the welts.

Edmund tried in vain to cover his legs with his arms, but the livid red marks, now Peter had seen them, glared menacingly out at him.

"Let me see," said Peter. But Edmund did not answer, so Peter tried to move his hands.

"No," whispered Edmund desperately. But Peter took his arms and pulled them away and saw anyway. The witch, whether by magic or her own cruel hand and weapons, had done more damage than he'd thought. Peter remembered Edmund's back and thought he was going to be sick. He was surprised to hear a faint whimper and looked up. When he realized Edmund was struggling, he let him go.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, ashamed.

Peter could see the tears in his brother's eyes, but Edmund bit his lip very hard and balled his hands into fists and refused to cry. Finally Peter sat down on the ground. Unable to speak, he took his brother's feet and dried them gently with his jerkin. Then he put it back on and stared up at his brother. Edmund's eyes were screwed shut.

"Ed," said Peter quietly, in a different voice than he had ever used with him before, and panic rose inside Edmund anew as he began to lose the battle with his tears.

_No, _he thought wildly. _Not in front of Peter._

But his battle was lost. Edmund gave an inhuman wail, and suddenly he was on the floor, hitting Peter hard and sobbing. His fists flew, but Peter only blocked them. Somewhere inside him Edmund wondered why Peter did not stop him or hit him back, but he found that he didn't care, and he kept at it until he was exhausted. He felt Peter's arms around him, and then there was nothing.

********************

Edmund awoke face down on his bunk. The first thing he saw was Peter sitting vigil across from him in the chair. He sat up in joy and relief (he had been dreaming about the witch) and realized that he did not smell as awful as he had. Next he remembered Peter washing his feet. He also remembered hitting him. And crying. He went very red under the collar.

"Sorry I hit you," he mumbled to the chair.

This unsolicited apology was a massive improvement in his character and meant more than Edmund knew (it was, after all, born of lessons learned and Aslan's love), and Peter intended to tell him not to mention it. But he thought better of it and shook his head. "If you're going to apologize, Ed, do it like a man. Look at me."

Edmund cringed. "I can't."

"Yes you can. Look at me."

Edmund swallowed. He would rather not. He would rather look at anyone but Peter, who was good and noble and forgiving; Peter, who loved him almost as much as Aslan did. It hurt to look at him. It hurt to apologize to him. But Peter was patient, and eventually Edmund met his brother's eyes.

"I'm sorry, Peter."

And Peter knew that he was sorry for so much more than hitting him.

"You're forgiven." Edmund felt a massive weight fall from his shoulders as Peter grinned at him. "Now shake hands."

Feeling a bit silly, Edmund did, and somehow he felt much better. Peter bade him lie down again, and having procured some salve from the Narnians and refilled the box with water while Edmund slept, set about mending his back. This brought more tears from Edmund, but he was calmer now, and when Peter was done Edmund could meet his eyes.

"Thanks," he said sincerely.

Peter smiled. Edmund could tell that his brother wanted to hug him and began to squirm, but for the sake of Edmund's back Peter stayed still. A thoughtful look came over Peter's face.

"I can't understand why Aslan didn't patch you up as soon as you got back," he mused, certain it was just the sort of thing the Lion would do.

Edmund looked up at him. "He said you would want to do it."

For a moment Peter was taken aback, and then he smiled.

"He was right."

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_Author's Note: _I had hoped to write a story which displayed brotherly love, but now I think this is a bit too mushy for a brother-fic and I'm wondering if I should try to tone it down. If anyone has comments or suggestions, please let me know as I'd love some feedback on how I might do things differently, especially when writing brother-fics in the future. Thanks!


	5. Rilian and his Friends

_Author's Notes_: I'm sorry it's taken me so long to update. This chapter is a bit of a break from the Pevensies, so the summary doesn't entirely apply, but it definitely has to do with the concept of washing feet. It was inspired by comments made by _Ladychristythenoble_ and _Alcarin Elen_, who wondered how foot/appendage washing might be brought back to Narnia. I hope this chapter gives a decent answer. :)

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**Rilian and his Friends**

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When the Beasts and Dwarfs had all gone to bed Eustace, Jill, Puddleglum, and Rilian sat up long into the night. They were the most exhausted of the party but also the most delighted and excitable; now they were above ground even Puddleglum was in somewhat jollier spirits.

There was a little fire in the cave and the Humans sat around it, trying to ward off the chill of the snow while Puddleglum stood at the mouth of the cave, waiting to be eaten by anything which might have followed them out of the hill. Rilian told the children stories for an hour before his voice began to grow hoarse and he suggested someone else take over.

Eustace was ever intrigued by Narnian history, and he had heard that Marsh-wiggles were almost as good as Badgers at recalling it. "I say, Puddleglum, would you tell us one?"

"_I_ don't know any stories worth telling," said Puddleglum morosely, turning from his post. "Anything _I_ could tell you would set you sobbing so hard you would drown in your own tears."

Rilian dismissed this with a wave of his hand. "Why he's a Marsh-wiggle! I imagine our friend could tell you as many tales as anyone at court." He wrinkled his nose and laughed. "Though I imagine he'll put a different spin on them."

Jill looked from one to the other and clapped her hands. "Oh Puddleglum would you? I would so love to hear one."

Puddleglum looked cross but he sat down to tell it anyway. He looked despairingly toward the entrance to their cheery hovel. "We'll probably all be killed while I'm sitting round telling you stories."

"We'll take our chances," said Eustace dryly, and Jill giggled.

"I do know one," sighed Puddleglum, looking as though it pained him to say it. "Of the reason Narnians wash each other's feet."

The children were surprised, but Rilian beamed at him. "Cheer up, Glummy!" he said with a friendly shove of his elbow. "This story's one of my favorites." He grinned at the children. "My father used to tell it to me by firelight. The Kings and Queens of Old told him about it years ago, when they met him. They were sad to learn that foot-washing had fallen out of practice. It seems Aslan introduced the custom long ago, at the very beginning of Time."

The children moved closer, anxious to hear about the Great Lion, and Eustace was secretly thrilled to hear more about the adventures of his cousins. Rilian smiled and continued.

"That very night my father reinstated it, and he suggested that everyone in the camp wash the feet of those they meant to serve. There were many nights when they did. When Narnia was restored, the tradition was passed along from Creature to Creature and man to man and family to family." He smiled. "My father washed my feet twice; once when I should have had a whipping and once when he knighted me, and I saw my parents wash each other's feet any number of times." He looked as though he were reliving a cherished dream, and the children thought how awful it must be for him to have been separated from his family so long, but Rilian pushed his memories aside and smiled again. "At any rate there are places where it continues still. I suppose this is one." Rilian turned to the Marsh-wiggle. "Do tell the story, Puddleglum. You can tell it ever so much better than I."

Puddleglum considered this. "Likely as not I'll bore you to tears," he sighed, recalling with concern the lack of trouble which had befallen Narnia in their absence. He didn't expect such a trend to continue. But as neither the Prince nor the children agreed with him, and as he really did enjoy anything to do with Aslan, he reluctantly began his tale.

While some of the legend had been lost to the ages, Puddleglum's account was more or less accurate. The Marsh-wiggle told of Aslan and how He had washed the hooves of Fledge the winged horse on the first day of creation. The thought of Aslan so humbling Himself before His subjects made everyone feel quite solemn and amazed.

He went on and on as only a Marsh-wiggle can (and with surprisingly few pessimistic comments), and the children began to understand why Rilian thought no one could tell stories as well as his People. Puddleglum knew many tales, tales of how King Frank and Queen Helen of old had thought perhaps something of the sort had been done in their own world, how the practice had fallen into disuse until Peter the High King had washed his brother's feet, how Edmund the Just had announced to the Narnians that they should do the same on the day of his coronation, how the Narnians had delighted in following their Kings' example, and how the idea of foot washing had been trampled and forgotten hundreds of years later, until it had vanished from all but one hidden pocket of Old Narnia.

He relayed a much longer version of King Caspian's declaration, and of how many of the Narnians still washed the feet of those they respected. While he knew a great number of the tales of old he could remember very little about what anyone washed feet _in_, save that King Peter had had a wooden box. When Puddleglum was finished, Rilian had the idea to wash the Marsh-wiggle and the children's feet.

Of course they all protested this, but Rilian said that he wanted to honor them for all they had done for him. Eustace said they had not done so very much, and Jill reminded him that they had mucked up all the signs, and even Puddleglum declined on account of being ticklish, but Rilian insisted.

They all felt very humble and after a few moments the children even thought it might be fun, but Puddleglum could not be reasoned with. He said it was very well to wash _his_ feet in any old basin but that the children's ought to be washed in a proper wooden box, as King Peter had done for his brother. Eustace and Jill said it didn't matter, but Rilian said he meant to do the thing properly if it was to be done at all. Puddleglum said he would find a box if Rilian would find food (they were all still quite hungry) and blankets for the children, and they went off to locate these things.

While there were victuals aplenty it seemed there were no boxes to be had, and Puddleglum returned much distressed. No one in the little party wanted to wake any of their hosts, but Rilian was by now quite excited and they couldn't bear to disappoint him.

"Couldn't we use something else?" reasoned Eustace, indicating any number of basins in the cave. (The Dwarfs it belonged to enjoyed building very nearly anything, and once they set to building one thing they made several of it whether it was useful or not.)

Puddleglum shook his head. "No, no, it'll have to be a box. King Peter had a box. And a wooden one at that. Oh what's the use? It's probably no good washing Human feet in anything but King Peter's armor box… Your feet will probably fall off if we use anything different..."

Rilian returned at that moment, arms laden with victuals, but no blankets. Animals, even of the Talking variety, were never so much in need of them as Humans. He had turned up just in time to hear Puddleglum conclude his pronouncement.

"I shouldn't wonder if we never find any sort of box… and it's terribly cold…" He looked to Rilian. "And we've no blankets at all…" The Marsh-wiggle turned sorrowful eyes on the children. "You'll probably have frozen to death by morning." Eustace and Jill took this prediction somewhat less dolefully than they might have a few weeks earlier, and their friend gave a longsuffering sigh. "It seems like such a waste to die after all you've been through." He shook his head as he returned to his search, oblivious to Eustace's smirk and Jill's quiet laughter.

Rilian no longer cared about washing feet properly so long as he could wash them at all. He put a hand on the Marsh-wiggle's shoulder, steering him as best he could toward a tunnel. "Come on, Glum, I'm sure we can find something. If there aren't any wooden boxes we can warm some water from the stream. Maybe it doesn't matter if we have boxes or baskets or basins. My father never used any of them. And after all, Aslan used His own tongue to wash their feet at the beginning, didn't He?"

"His tongue!" exclaimed Eustace and Jill together, but the Prince and the Marsh-wiggle were far ahead of them by now. The children turned to each other in wonder.

"That doesn't sound very hygienic," mused Eustace. Jill bit her lip, recalling her first encounter with the Great Lion, during which nothing had gone as she had expected.

"Perhaps it didn't go exactly the way Rilian makes it sound," she wondered. "Either way I'm glad Aslan decided to do it. It's an interesting way to show your love for somebody, isn't it?"

"Love?" said Eustace. He hadn't considered love as the motivation behind this sacrifice. "Well yes…"

The children sat down on the smooth stone of the floor, considering the Great Lion and his deep and mysterious love. But they did not have much time to ponder it then; Puddleglum and the Prince returned, Rilian evidently having convinced the Marsh-wiggle that a stone basin from the cave would do very nicely for foot-washing. He did not have to ask them to take off their shoes as no one was wearing any.

King Caspian having instilled in his son the importance of the love and sacrifice that lay behind a decision to wash someone else's feet, Rilian was careful to see that his heart was in the right place before he started.

He knew that many Narnians- friends, family members, and even enemies- washed each other's feet when they felt an occasion called for it, but as it was considered a very intimate affair he had rarely seen it done. His parents were the only people Rilian had seen wash anyone's feet, but the idea had been very dear to them, and they had always made it into a private event of sorts. Consequently he did the same for his friends, who watched in awed fascination as Rilian, having readied the stone basin and placed it beside a little log which served as a bench, bowed to them all and then sank to his knees.

He clasped his hands and closed his eyes. Then he gave thanks to Aslan for his life and the lives of the others, for sending friends to deliver him, and for his rescue. Then he opened his eyes, looking more humble than they had ever seen him.

"Ladies first," he said in a soft voice which made Jill rather shy, and she came and sat down on the log in front of him. It seemed such an important, private event to Rilian that the others looked away.

The Prince looked solemnly up at his friend. "Thank you, Jill, Daughter of Eve. Your decision to follow Aslan led you to me." He kissed her hand and smiled at her. "You have rescued me. You served me in my hour of need; now let me honor you." Jill was so overcome that she could only nod, but Rilian did not appear to expect any answer. He took her feet in his hands and washed them, his fingers strong and gentle. There being no soap or towels, he did as fine a job as anyone could with water alone. When he was done he kissed her hand and thanked her once more, and she hung her feet over the edge to dry, feeling a bit teary.

"You're welcome, Rilian," she whispered, "though I don't think I really did very much. At least, I didn't do very much right." And she could not help but hug him. Rilian hugged her back with as much dignity as any king before moving on to Eustace, who sat on the other end of the log while Puddleglum came to sit with Jill.

Rilian bowed to him. "Thank you Eustace, Son of Adam," he said, with such open gratitude that Eustace felt rather unworthy. "Your decision to follow Aslan led you to me. You have rescued me. You served me in my hour of need; now let me honor you."

"Yes-all right," said Eustace, who felt very solemn himself but could think of nothing else to say. So Rilian washed his feet as well. It was so humbling to Eustace that he wanted to hug the Prince as Jill had done, but he still knew little enough about what to do with affection that he only nodded in acknowledgement. This was enough for Rilian, who made him another bow and turned to his Narnian friend.

As Jill's feet were now dry, Puddleglum took her place on the log and she went to stand with Eustace, who looked as much in awe as she felt.

Rilian bowed to the Marsh-wiggle as he had to Eustace. "Thank you Puddleglum, beloved Cousin. Your decision to follow Aslan led you to me. You have rescued me. You served me in my hour of need; now let me honor you."

Puddleglum carried on about many other Marsh-wiggles who had done far worthier deeds than he, and about the fact that the Prince ought to stop talking and get on with it as the ceiling of the cave was likely to collapse any moment, but this did not deter Rilian, who carried on as though Puddleglum had not spoken. He only washed the Marsh-wiggle's large webby feet as carefully as he could. Then he made him another bow and stood up, beaming around at the lot of them.

"Thank you," he said again. "All of you. And now we must thank the Lion together." They all agreed that this was fitting, and so they did, first together and then silently.

Then Jill could not resist hugging all of them, and while this made the others smile it seemed to break the spell, and in a moment they were all talking and laughing again. Finally they began to be really tired.

"Thanks for the story," said Eustace to Puddleglum, who nodded. He was eager to see what his cousins would tell him about it, if he and Jill ever got back to England.

"And for washing our feet," added Jill to Rilian.

"Such funny little feet," said the Marsh-wiggle, in a tone they would almost have mistaken for affectionate if they hadn't known better. Rilian smiled.

Eustace looked outside into the dark, starry night and yawned. "I think I'm ready to go to bed after all," he said.

"There really isn't any use staying awake," agreed Puddleglum. "The longer you do the more likely something dreadful is bound to happen to you."

Eustace smirked but he was too tired to laugh. As there were no beds in sight he simply helped Rilian put out the fire and lay down beside it. The others followed suit, keeping close together for warmth.

"Wherever I'm sleeping I'm glad to be back on top of the ground," said Rilian, whose joy remained and could not be quashed. The children agreed (one could not tell by Puddleglum's response what he thought) but Jill said to Eustace, who was beside her, that she wouldn't have minded having a blanket. Eustace nodded sleepily, too exhausted to care much about the cold, and closed his eyes.

"Oh Aslan," said Jill quietly, "I do wish we weren't so cold. And I do hope Rilian is able to sleep; he's been through so much it wouldn't be fair if he couldn't. I know I shan't be able to." But she closed her eyes too and did her best to bear it, and before long she was sound asleep as well.

There was a sudden knock on the cave wall which the children and the Marsh-wiggle ignored in favor of happy slumber, but which quickly woke the Prince. A little light shone into the cave and several small Hedgehogs came in with sacks of what looked like heather.

"Excuse the intrusion, your Majesty," said one, "but we thought you might be more comfortable on this." Rilian thanked them profusely and helped them to haul their burden to the hearth. They scurried out after emptying the sacks, which made lovely pillows. Rilian sorted the heather into beds and was just able to carry Eustace and Jill to theirs, but Puddleglum was another matter. He shook the Marsh-wiggle gently until he woke up.

After seeing the beds, Puddleglum remembered that a Dwarf had told him that there might be some mantles in another cave after all, and said that he might as well go get some as he was certainly useless to sleeping children and underground Princes who could make heather appear from the air.

Rilian promised him that he had been quite useful to them all (Puddleglum said he had thought Rilian might say something silly) and then promptly fell asleep. He did not wake until the morning, not even when a cozy mantle was flung somewhat clumsily about his shoulders and soft sighs of happiness escaped the oddly warmer children at his side.

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_Author's Note:_ I'm afraid Rilian isn't as in-character as I wanted him to be, but I got the impression that on the night on which this chapter takes place he would have been quite joyful and excitable, and as Caspian's son he lent himself well as a character who could have grown up learning and appreciating Narnian traditions.


	6. Edmund and his Sister

**Edmund and his Sister**

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Edmund set his chessboard on its shelf, watching his little sister take their brother's hands as she implored him to dance with her. He laughed softly as Peter bowed to her; their hair glowing faintly in the starlight which came in through the window. Lucy could convince Peter to do anything.

"What would Aslan say if he could see what you've done to Narnian dance?" he teased.

The children had learned long ago to know the Lion by another name, but they had continued to call Him Aslan among themselves.

"He would say, 'Well done, children,'" said Peter, trying not to laugh, and Lucy smiled at the name which had always filled her with such delight.

"Aslan can always see us!" she added joyously, tripping and falling into Edmund, who gave a snort of mock derision and pushed her lightly toward Peter instead. Peter caught her and twirled her around.

"We'll make a dancer of him yet, won't we Lu?"

Lucy laughed and nodded.

"Aslan never made me dance," said Edmund, trying to sulk and failing.

"Oh Aslan," said Lucy, looking at the stars. "Please come back and take us with you!"

"Nay my Queen," said Edmund gravely, but his tone teased her delightfully. "Do you think to force the Great Lion to come when you command Him?"

"Never!" declared Lucy fiercely. "I am sorry, my King," she added, curtseying to him grandly though she was wearing a rather plain dress. "Please forgive me." She fell dramatically to her knees before him, and there was such remorse in her eyes that her brothers might have believed her conscience stricken if it were not for the light which danced in them. Peter chuckled and Edmund had to turn around to keep from laughing.

"All right, all right, you're forgiven. He always does seem to be with us…" he mumbled to the window, trying to keep his amusement in check. But here he saw something to change the direction his thoughts. "Susan's home."

"Oh?"

Lucy came to the window as Peter went to open the door. "Hullo, Su," he greeted as warmly as he dared.

Susan came spinning into the house, slipping out of her dancing shoes and frowning disapprovingly at the lot of them. "Listen to all of you. I could hear you in the garden, carrying on like children. I do wish you'd stop going on about that lion. Everyone already thinks you're mad."

The boys frowned at her. Lucy went white and opened her mouth, her eyes severe, but Edmund laid a calming hand on her shoulder. It would do no good to chide Susan now.

"And Peter!" continued Susan, warming to her subject. "You shouldn't encourage them!"

But Peter would not be cowed. He forced himself to smile at her. "That Lion's the best friend you ever had, Su, and we'll talk about Him if we like."

Susan glared around at them all. When they said nothing, she made a great show of turning her back on them and flew up the stairs in a temper.

Peter sighed and Edmund shook his head, but Lucy looked near tears and Peter felt that they must take her out to spare her. Susan in her wrath could be malicious. "Come on, Lu, let's take a walk."

Lucy straightened up and nodded, her face still pale in the light of the waxing moon.

"Coming, Ed?" Peter asked as he picked up his coat and helped Lucy into hers. Edmund started to say that he would, but something made him reconsider.

"I think I'll stay here," he said quietly.

Peter raised his eyebrows, but he did not question his brother. He smiled a bit sadly, and Edmund knew that he wished he could have stayed for Susan too (though Edmund could not help thinking what little difference it would have made to her).

Though Susan thought all her siblings ridiculous, they loved her, and Peter would be leaving in the morning. He had only come for the weekend and would have liked to talk with her a while, but right now Lucy wanted cheering up. He was glad someone was going to be there to keep Susan company, even if he wondered what any of them could possibly say that she would listen to.

"All right Ed. See you."

He held the door open for Lucy while she waved good-bye to Edmund, smiling up at him in genuine adoration.

"Bye Ed. Love you."

Edmund rolled his eyes at her, but he smiled. "You, too," he mumbled, just loud enough for her to hear. Peter, thank the Lion, did not require such schmaltzy displays of affection. He only nodded at Edmund and followed Lucy out.

Edmund stared after them for a moment. Then he turned and looked up the stairs toward the girls' room.

He had stayed for Susan, but why? What could he do to bring her around? What could any of them do to show her that they loved her, he least of all? Edmund had never thought much of unguarded affection and lately Susan thought even less of it (save when it came from her new friends or her beaux). He quashed both the impulse to yell at her and the unwelcome idea that he ought to have some sort of talk with her.

He would be no good at either, and Susan would be worse for the attempt. He sighed, in frustration. Though he would have been unable to explain it he had a vague inclination that something wonderful was about to happen to them and that Susan was going to miss out on it if she continued on the way she was, and even more than wanting to have it out with her he wanted to prove to himself that Susan was not so lost as they had feared; that if something good was really about to happen it would happen to Susan too. The trouble was in getting her to come back to them; moreover, back to Aslan.

Frowning, he climbed the stairs and stood cautiously in the girls' doorway. There was Susan, sitting in the chair by the window as the moonlight spilled over her hair. Her feet, of which she was nearly as proud as her hair, were soaking in a basin. She frowned at the cracks in it, wishing the family could have afforded a newer one.

A thought came to Edmund then, one he hardly dared to entertain. There was perhaps one thing.

Shouting and hugging might be lost on them both, but he wondered if serving someone when he did not want to, and when they did not deserve it, might be more the thing to bring someone to their knees. Susan thought herself very high and proper now but perhaps she was not yet so far gone as they had feared.

He had never really dared to think of washing Susan's feet; he had felt so wretched and undeserving when Peter had done it for him. But as he looked at his sister, so miserable underneath all of her feigned happiness, he realized she felt wretched already. If nothing else, perhaps it would show her that he loved her; perhaps she would understand that at least. He swallowed. He had never been one for physical affection; it made him feel silly. But if it would help Susan, it would be worth it.

He rapped once on the door to get her attention, but Susan was absorbed in her thoughts and he surprised her. She recovered quickly, pasting a smile on her face. "Edmund! You startled me. I… thought you had left. What are you doing here?"

Edmund took the fact that she had not demanded that he leave as a good sign. "There's something I wanted to discuss with you."

Susan looked at him suspiciously. "Don't start that nonsense about your silly lion being 'in our world.'"

Edmund regarded her with searching eyes, and Susan felt most uncomfortable. "Well here He's called something else actually," said Edmund quietly.

Anger came into Susan's eyes. "I've told you, I don't want to hear it."

Edmund pretended this had not stung. "What do you want to hear?"

Susan frowned and Edmund thought she looked rather sad. Peter and Lucy didn't always see it, but Edmund thought that when he was alone with her, if he let her be, she was often closer to her old self. She was less guarded now, less silly, and he thought the gulf that had risen inexplicably between them might be dwindling just a bit. Before he could ask her what was troubling her, she changed the subject. "Do you ever get the feeling that something awful is about to happen?" she asked almost casually.

Edmund sat down at her feet, watching the water in the basin. "Just the opposite."

Susan frowned again, and Edmund felt the gulf widen. "What are you doing here?" she asked again.

Edmund countered this with a question of his own. "Would you mind if I did something for you?"

"Is it to do with Narnia?" Susan asked skeptically.

"It's to do with us."

"Are you going to start _talking_ about Narnia?"

"I won't say anything at all, if you like."

"I _would_ like that," said Susan haughtily, but Edmund thought it was forced. He ignored the harshness in her voice and turned so that he was kneeling in front of her. He removed his jumper and set his hands in the water.

Susan watched him in confusion. "What are you doing?" she demanded, and Edmund supposed she didn't really mind if he spoke.

"Washing your feet." Susan pulled back sharply. "Come on Su," he said kindly. "It won't be so bad."

There was a sickly sort of fear in her eyes, one Edmund understood better than most, but she was too alarmed to try to stop him. Edmund had a way of breaking through indestructible walls, and she knew that if he touched her, she would break into a thousand pieces. She felt his fingers on her dirty, smelly feet and gasped. She tried to get her voice to work, she tried to jump up, she tried to tell him to go away, but something stopped her.

Edmund smiled in sympathy, looking at the floor. He remembered well how sick it had made him at first, to accept this sort of charity; how he had squirmed and writhed in anxiety; how desperately he had shied away from what Peter had given so freely. His hands stilled over her feet, giving her a moment to collect herself.

Edmund wondered what he could do for her, but he remembered that in the end Peter had just had to do this, and Edmund had had to accept it. Still, he could make it easier for Su. He recalled that in times long past she had told him that she liked the sound of his voice, that it had eased her greatest troubles when he sang to her. He wasn't much for singing now, so he began to hum. The sound of it was so familiar that Susan began to relax. The deep vibrations began to soothe her, and Susan started to calm down. Edmund slid his hands back into the water and began to rinse his sister's feet. It was more humbling than he had imagined.

He had been so angry with Susan. He still did not understand her, but as some of her pride washed away with the grime, he felt the same thing happening to him. He could tell that she was embarrassed, and he wondered how long it had been since anyone, even her many "friends," had done anything nice for her. All of the Pevensies had tried, but how long had it been since she had let them?

When he came to the tiny wart on her heel of her foot, she blushed. Edmund stopped, realizing what he had touched, and for a moment it repulsed him. But he remembered who the foot belonged to, and he realized he did not care what was on it. Edmund closed his eyes. Was this what had made her so embarrassed? A tiny imperfection on the outside of her heel? _Oh Su_.

He ran his fingers carefully over her foot, washing away the dye which had seeped into her skin from her pretty shoes. He looked up at Susan, smiling, and kissed her hand. Tears came into her eyes and he knew she wanted desperately to get away from him, so he finished quickly. By the time he had dried her feet with his jumper and put it back on she looked far less uncomfortable. He had thoroughly embarrassed her, but he had been so tender that she could not bear it, and when he was done he looked up at her.

Her eyes were full of confusion. "Why- why did you do that?"

"You still don't understand?"

"No."

Susan looked lost, but her little brother smiled at her and she thought, not for the first time, that he seemed older than he looked. "You will later."

His voice was so full of confidence that she could believe him. Susan opened her mouth to say something and for a wild moment Edmund thought she was going to hug him, or ask him about Aslan, or something equally as unlikely. And then everything changed.

There was a commotion in the doorway and both siblings turned to see Peter and Lucy there, shock on their faces. They took in Susan and Edmund and the basin and their shock turned to identical, disbelieving grins and Peter pulled Lucy away from the door.

"But Peter-" cried Lucy happily, and they could hear her struggling with him as he tried to quiet her.

"It's all right," said Susan, and there was a strange quality to her voice. Peter and Lucy came in and Edmund and Susan stood up to face them, and finally they were all standing together, and they were all deliriously happy though Susan could not understand why.

"I want," began Susan, but here she seemed to lose the ability to speak.

"It's all right Su," said Peter. "We understand."

Susan looked at Peter so long that for a moment they all had hope that she might come back to them. Peter, Edmund, and Lucy thought of the meeting they were to have with their friends next week and imagined Susan there with them; they could almost see her stop fighting, see the memories flash in her mind, see that she was trying to remember. Their expressions were so humble that it didn't hurt her to do it; in fact she was very nearly undone. Silent tears were already rolling down Lucy's face, but she did not try to stop them, and though she didn't know it Susan began to cry too. There was a long silence which might have lasted years, and they could all feel power and majesty and incomprehensible love surround them until they were practically bursting.

"What-" began Susan, but no one else spoke, waiting for her to answer her own question.

Peter, Lucy, and especially Edmund could sense how much Susan wanted to come back. She reached out to Peter and he reached out to her, but just as Susan's lips formed the word "Aslan" there was a sudden noise from outside, and while her siblings ignored it, it was enough to make Susan blink.

Peter noticed the change in her first and it tore at him, but he had no time now to feel the pain.

Susan had righted herself and the moment was gone. Humiliated at having so nearly capitulated, she jerked away from the others so quickly that she nearly upset the basin. She managed to salvage her dignity by moving her dainty feet just before she might have fallen over it and standing elegantly before them all.

"I don't want to hear anymore about those games we used to play when we were children," she said severely. She turned to Edmund. "And I don't want anyone touching my feet!"

They looked up at her with such brokenness that it hurt to watch them. Furious with herself, she glared at them all and, with a final shake of her dark locks, twirled round and stormed out of the room, leaving heartache in her wake.

Her siblings were silent for a long a time.

"I guess that's it," said Peter finally. He stood up straight and set his shoulders, but his eyes and voice were full of sorrow. "Susan is a friend of Narnia no more."

"Nor of us," said Lucy, just as sadly, and she fell back and leaned against Peter in the grief they had all tried so desperately to keep at bay. Peter wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close, and Lucy began to cry.

But Edmund, who could by this time read people rather well, had seen the uncertainty in Susan's eyes just before she'd left them, and a strange look came into his eyes as he inclined his head toward the open door.

"She may be yet," he murmured quietly.


End file.
